I feel it. That moment where her awareness stretches outward, searching the dark without looking. She knows I’m here. She always does. I don’t need her eyes on me to confirm it.
Her body already belongs to me on a level I doubt she understands. Maybe even I don’t. What I do know is that she belongs with me, without a shadow of a doubt.
I had a plan, get to know her, give her time. Only approach her when I was certain she wouldn’t run. But the watching because an addiction. How far could I go? I close could I get? And then I found myself craving it to the point where I was willing to wait for her to come to me.
I move when the curtain falls, tucked into the shadows of the private box I bought eighteen months ago. I head down the steps and turn right into a door marked “Staff only”. It’s so busy back here after a show, and I know how to move like I belong somewhere. I head to the room behind hers. A storage room full of old and broken equipment. It was easy to make a fewmodificationsafter hours. Now I have a view of her as she enters and looks at herself in the mirror.
I know she can still feel me, watching her. Her body is now completely attuned to me, even though she still doesn’t know who I am.
She brushes her fingers over the petals of the yellow roses, briefly searches for a card she knows she won’t find. I press the heel of my hand against my aching cock and will it to calm down.
Her ankle is swelling already as she unties the ribbons of her pointe shoes and slips them off. I know she bandaged her ankle tightly before putting on her costume, I also know it’s made little difference to the pain she is feeling. She lies easily when another dancer pops her head around the door and asks if she’s okay.
She’s learned that weakness invites replacement.
I watch her as she changes quickly. That lithe, little body slipping into a baggy jumper and sweat pants. She doesn’t wear underwear tonight, and I groan quietly. Just knowing it makes my blood froth.
She leaves early, and I dip out of the utility closet and head outside.
The city wraps around her like it doesn’t know what it’s touching. She pulls her big coat tighter, keeps her steps measured, every movement screaming control. I follow at a distance, keeping to the shadows.
She feels me again halfway down the block. Her shoulders tense, breath catching just slightly. She glances at her reflection, searching for proof of something she already knows is there.
I don’t give it to her.
I never follow where she can see me. I want her aware, but uncertain. There’s a difference. Fear scatters. Awarenesssharpens. It pulls her closer without her realising she’s moving at all.
She pauses at her building, keys in hand. For a moment, she stills, and I wonder if she is considering turning around.
The thought thrills me and my cock jerks again in my boxers. Pre-cum leaking and leaving a sticky patch on the fabric.
I imagine her eyes finding mine for the first time. The way her breath would stutter. The way her body would respond before her mind could interfere. She’s responsive like that. Always has been. Even when she pretends she isn’t.
But she doesn’t turn.
She goes inside, locks the door, and I take out my phone. I stand in an alleyway across the street as I pull up the live feed. Watching the light flick on in her apartment, watching her silhouette cross the room with that same careful limp she refuses to acknowledge. Then letting my eyes find her on my phone screen. I planted cameras in there shortly after I saw her dance for the first time. I couldn’t bear not being able to look at her whenever the urge came over me.
She sinks onto the couch.
I know the moment the truth hits her. I can almost feel it through the screen. The realization that ballet is slipping through her fingers, no matter how tightly she clings to it. That everything she sacrificed might not be enough to save it.
I didn’t choose her because she was perfect. I chose her because she understands devotion. Because she understands pain as a currency you pay willingly for the thing you love. Because she knows what it is to give everything and still push to give more.
She thinks she stayed untouched because she had to.
She’s wrong.
She stayed untouched because she was waiting for me.
It’s been eighteen months of waiting for the right moment. I’ve watched her rise and strain and start to fall. I’ve protected her without her ever knowing my name. I’ve removed threats before they could ever reach her orbit.
Now the Pakhan has spoken.
The Dubovich line must be secured. Futures locked down. Heirs ensured.
For other men, that means negotiations. Contracts. Women chosen from approved families.
For me?
